


With Armour, You Conquer

by SakuraWindChime



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Classical References, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Illustrated, Isekai Another World Zine (Yuri!!! on Ice), M/M, One Shot, Teasing, armour kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-11-01 23:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraWindChime/pseuds/SakuraWindChime
Summary: With a nudge into the muscled flank with his heel, Iūrius urged his horse as far forward as his elevated station allowed. Hung from the outcrop of Tantalus’ torment, his fingertips thrummed with the tingling desire to touch, yet they remained maddingly out of reach. Sweat broke out across his nape, the ferocious need to claim parching his throat drier than the Mediterranean heat.And to make matters worse, the exulted Imperator Cæsar Victorius Augustus, Unconquered Restorer of the World, knew exactly the effect he had on his poor, humble secretary.





	With Armour, You Conquer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [izzyisozaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/gifts).

> Written for the Isekai: Another World -Gehen Edition- zine
> 
> Original AU idea, and the two stunning pieces of art, belong to the amazing [izzyisozaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/pseuds/izzyisozaki), who graciously took all of my excitement when she mentioned the AU in the zine Discord and allowed me to write a piece about it!

An amber glow permeated through his eyelids as Iūrius was slowly roused from his slumber. His lover’s body moved behind him while feather light lips fluttered infused heat along his neck. Victorius hummed at Iūrius’ stirring, trailing caressing fingers across his collarbone to flow over the naked curve of his side before they dipped down.

Iūrius reached to halt Victorius’ ministrations. “_Mmm_, Victor, I’m sleeping.”

A chuckle chimed at his ear. “I fear, my dearest Iūrī, that may be a lie.”

“It was the truth until but a minute ago,” Iūrius quipped with a smile as he took the wandering hand within both of his and pressed a kiss on the back of it.

Because who could detest to being woken in such a way by the most sought-after man in the Roman Empire? Iūrius certainly revelled in the knowledge that _he_, a simple freedman playing the role of secretary, was able to hold that power between his palms.

He rolled around to greet his lover properly with the meeting of their lips, letting go of the hand in favour of plunging into thick, silken locks. Victorius’ tongue peeked out to trace the seam of Iūrius’ mouth and he gladly obliged, opening with a throaty moan. Mutually appreciative hands roamed across shoulders, down muscled backs and over the swell of rears to draw their bodies closer until not even air could slide between them, kindling a catching fire in their wake.

The frenzied friction on Iūrius’ sleep-hardened member was utterly delicious, engulfed in the heated delirium of their unoiled grind. He gasped, panting from the momentary cold separation of their mouths, as Victorius’ fingers came to swirl at their tips in the perfect ignition. Iūrius shuddered at the slick movement of a thumb while Victorius gripped them both in hand, pumping.

“I know you like it when it’s raw like this,” Victorius purred deeply against his lips.

“_Hnng_,” Iūrius mewled, bucking his hips to stoke the flames climbing over his skin, “y-yes. Faster.”

“It’s my pleasure to obey such a command.”

Iūrius cried out at the rapidly blazing pace, body simmering at the searing points of contact with Victorius’ body under the heavy bedding pelts. They rocked and dragged each other to the edge, teetering with whines and whimpers, until Victorius flicked his exposed head and Iūrius fell over the precipice in a white-hot burst, his pulsing sending Victorius crashing down with him.

Panting filled the tent while their smouldering passion petered away into glowing embers, wrapped within each other’s arms. Moments of serenity passed, basking in the afterglow and sheer rapture of their overflowing affection. But it was Victorius who moved first, Iūrius begrudgingly letting him go to collect a cloth soaked with water from their amphora.

After tending to himself, Victorius crawled back onto the bed to clean Iūrius with a reverence that he was sure he would never fully become accustomed to. He was born to kiss the feet and wait upon men on lower rungs of the hierarchical ladder, and yet he had climbed above them all to serve and be served by the one who sat at the very top.

A single ray of golden sunlight filtered through the parting of the calf hide at the entrance, adorning his naked lover in its beautiful glory. Iūrius had surely been touched by the blessing of the gods to be given the gift of such a divine man.

Victorius’ hand came to cup Iūrius’ jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.

“You are magnificent,” Victorius breathed, almost in awe.

Azure eyes gazed at him like he was the world, and the usual complicated mixture of buoyant adoration and weighty unworthiness swirled within his chest. Though, for once, Iūrius was able prevent his drowning, still drifting on the high tide of their victory. Instead, he turned his head to playfully nip at the thumb, then, at Victorius’ soft gasp, placed a healing kiss.

“I feel as if I should be the one saying that to you,” Iūrius eventually replied with an indulgent smile. “Surely the Emperor who won the Gallic Campaign should take such a title.”

The thumb tapped at Iūrius’ lower lip, teasing it open. “Ah, yes, but I cannot forget the brilliant stratagem _you _devised that gave us exactly the edge we needed.”

“Well, I couldn’t help but be inspired by the incredible prowess of a certain soldier.”

Iūrius took Victorius’ thumb into his mouth, sucking on the tip, peering up at the man to witness his widened eyes blaze with desire.

A knock rapped on one of the wooden struts of the tent.

“Time to get your ravenous hands off each other, my friends,” General Christophoros’ muffled voice lilted through the thick leather, sounding amused. “We have an important date with a triumph, and I don’t think the men can contain their excitement for much longer.”

Iūrius pushed Victorius’ thumb out with a small _pop_, a giggle bubbling in his chest from the disappointed dip of Victorius’ shoulders. “We’ll be out soon.”

“You better, otherwise I’m coming in to join you.”

They waited for Christophoros’ footsteps to retreat before they reluctantly accepted their impending duty, sharing a lingering kiss before they rose to dress one another: Iūrius in a toga, and Victorius in armour.

Not long after they had vacated the tent to be dismantled, a man outside their legions galloped in with a heavily panting horse and requested the Emperor’s immediate attention. Fear lanced through Iūrius, piercing through his mind with all the calamities that could have befallen Rome to warrant such a hurried rider. Famine? Plague? The Senate?

Only for it to morph into puzzlement upon seeing the glee that graced his dear Emperor’s face. Sending only an inscrutable wink over his shoulder, Victorius quickly ushered the rider and his horse away, leaving Iūrius to gape in amused bafflement. _That man and his surprises_. Iūrius shook his head at his lover’s antics before he turned to perform his duties.

Within the hour the entire company was packed and set in formation upon the Campus Martius, Iūrius having sent men to announce their imminent triumphal arrival into the city and taken the final inventory of supplies and plunder as they were carefully piled onto open wagons. In all of that time none had seen their beloved Emperor.

That was until his midnight-coloured stallion, with Victorius safely saddled atop, trotted to take his rightful place at the front of the parade. Iūrius exhaled a breath of relief as his bare, muscular arm rose to signal their march, the Generals in front of him shouting commands that were echoed down the line.

Horses lurched into action and Iūrius had to shield his eyes from the sunlight that glinted off Victorius’ smooth, well-polished armour. _Wait_. There was no way the war-worn ferrous strips of the _lōrīca segmentāta _Iūrius had dressed him with shone that brightly anymore, no matter how long he spent lovingly polishing it. He slowly lowered his hand, squinting to aid his distance-blurred vision to see more clearly.

A sleek one-piece armour plate adorned Victorius’ back, presumably with an equally flawless piece for the front. Iūrius had to grip the reigns firmly with both hands, almost swooning to a swift death at how beautifully sculpted the bronze cuirass was to his lover’s toned torso. Intense possessiveness slashed through his chest at the thought that _someone else _had dressed _his _Emperor, had been granted the intimate privilege of a close viewing of the armour before _him_.

With a nudge into the muscled flank with his heel, Iūrius urged his horse as far forward as his elevated station allowed. Hung from the outcrop of Tantalus’ torment, his fingertips thrummed with the tingling desire to touch, yet they remained maddingly out of reach. Sweat broke out across his nape, the ferocious _need _to claim parching his throat drier than the Mediterranean heat.

And to make matters worse, the exulted Imperator Cæsar Victorius Augustus, Unconquered Restorer of the World, knew _exactly _the effect he had on his poor, humble secretary. With a perfectly executed flick of his silver-haired fringe and a flirtatious wink over his shoulder, Victorius gained pace to draw further ahead of the procession as they entered the Triumphal Gate.

Iūrius bit back a frustrated, mournful groan. The hours ahead of them were going to be a battle all of their own. Unable to touch the ridges of that exquisite heroic relief glimmering in the sunlight, unable to lay a single finger on those soft leather fastenings that he knew with a twisting _snap _would allow him to release that Tyrian purple drapery. Underneath _that_, well, Iūrius had the feeling of those rippling muscles between his thighs eternally imprinted upon his mind.

After a cursory glance to the Generals around him, Iūrius hastily used the advantage of the momentary darkness cast beneath the high archway to get a firm, warning grasp on himself beneath the folds of his toga. The touch delivered a disorienting concoction of welcome relief and an aching _want _for more. With the cut of the light, he whipped his hand back onto the reigns in a white-knuckled fist.

_Oh! Venus, grant me strength._

Every minute of his imminent future were going to be long, hard, and incredibly torturous.

* * *

Venus had not aided him in the slightest.

Throughout the entire ceremony, sacrifice, and celebratory banquet, all Iūrius had been granted were snatches of a smouldering, azure gaze full of future promise and the barest contact of skin stolen in wanderings past.

Every time he made chase, to smuggle away his lover to worship him into the night, Victorius danced away with a radiant grin that rivalled the chariot-hung sun. The kind of grin that robbed Iūrius of breath and overwhelmed him with the yearning to fall to his knees in prostration to give that glorious man all that he desired.

Now he found himself across the banquet hall from his beloved with his body ablaze, drowning his wantonness in wine, while Victorius played his game of endurance.

Iūrius had never envied the expertise of Jupiter more than he had in that moment. To have a taste of the divine ability to transfigure oneself into any object or being imaginable and simply _take _what he craved. What he would give to be the couch that Victorius was languidly reclined upon. Or the _calix _that so frequently graced those alluring lips, curved into a bow lovely enough to rival that of Cupid’s own.

But Iūrius was determined to be nothing less than victorious.

Throwing back the rest of his wine, he sauntered over to the table that displayed a wonderful boast of Rome’s freshest produce of fruits. To capture his lover’s attention and place him on the receiving end of his own tease, Iūrius required a fruit of a certain size and curvature. He took a moment to peruse the vibrancy of the grapes—_too small_—the swell of the olives—_the pit unsightly_—the uncut figs—_aha!_

He plucked the purple-skinned fruit from its dish, carefully holding it between thumb and forefinger, and Iūrius turned until he once again faced his Emperor across the room. Only to find those jewelled eyes ardently trained on his every move, slim silver brows raised in impish fascination. _Perfect_.

With lowered eyes, so that his lashes fanned across his cheeks in the way Victorius liked, Iūrius placed the bulbous fig halfway past his lips. He bit through the soft center, a coy smirk playing across his features as he enjoyed its flavour, before taking the rest within his mouth. The sweet juices clung to his skin, forcing him to swipe his tongue across his lower lip and, of course, draw in his fingertips to properly suck them clean lest they remain sticky.

Slowly, Iūrius raised his gaze. As sure as a shot of Cupid’s arrow, Victorius stalked toward him with his whole countenance lit intense with fervent hunger.

The art of seduction was complete.

Victorius closely circled around Iūrius, eliciting a shiver from the sensual drag of his nail up Iūrius’ sensitive nape. Warmth breath ghosted the shell of his ear from behind.

“I fear if I had watched that profane mouth any longer,” Victorius purred, “I would’ve had a swifter visit across the River Styx than I had intended.”

Iūrius tipped his head back with an indulgent grin. “Then, I’m sure you’ll be far more willing to visit our chambers instead.”

“That certainly sounds far more _enjoyable_,” Victorius murmured. “Lead on, my ferryman.”

_Venus, I am in your debt._

Without further preamble, Iūrius grabbed Victorius’ slender wrist to escort them out of the room and through the lamp-lit corridors of the palace. Upon reaching their grand chamber, Iūrius impatiently waited for the dismissed slaves to leave before he pounced on his Emperor.

Scorching breaths traded between their zealous mouths, tongues stoking an already raging fire of desire. Feverish hands roamed, never halting. Victorius pulled at the heavy drapes of Iūrius’ toga, while Iūrius relished in _finally _feeling the cool bronze of the glorious armour beneath his palms.

Separating for breath, Iūrius dipped to nip at the soft juncture between Victorius’ neck and shoulder.

“This armour looks exquisite on you,” Iūrius whispered into Victorius’ heated skin. “Displaying all of your strength.” Fabric dropped to the floor with Victorius’ liberating push. “Your victories.” Exposed in his thin tunic, Iūrius dragged reverent fingers over the detailed relief. “Perfectly sculpted to display your assets,” he continued, as he lowered himself down Victorius’ body.

“_Iūrī_,” Victor breathed.

On his knees, Iūrius nuzzled into his lover’s hips and bare thighs as he hooked his thumbs under the fastenings on either side of Victorius’ torso. A whimper sounded from above, while he mouthed taunted pleasure at Victorius’ hardened member pushing against the base of his armour. Snaps mingled with pants and the bronze plates detached with satisfying ease, just like Iūrius had imagined. Victorius obediently lifted his arms when Iūrius rose to lift the armour off his body and placed it safely to the side to him to tend to later.

“I had it commissioned purely for you.” Victorius spoke with adoration, pulling Iūrius to sit upon their bed together and tracing the golden laurel wreath circlet around Iūrius’ bicep. “My greatest victory.”

Uncontrollable affection furled within Iūrius’ chest and he surged forward for another gasping kiss. “And you’re mine.” He pulled away to carefully remove Victorius’ own laurel-wreath crown from his silver hair. “A victory I could’ve only dreamed to have won.”

“I would wish for no other to conquer me,” Victorius declared.

With his body trembling in anticipation, Victorius hastily removed the scant clothing that remained as the only barrier between them. The chilled air had but a moment to hit their exposed skin before Iūrius pinned Victorius against their pelts, unadulterated passion fizzling from every point of contact. Choked mewls followed Iūrius in his prowling crawl along his lover, teeth laying claim and leaving behind emblazed markings of territory. _Mine. Only mine_.

Victorius’ weeping head deliciously dragged along his toned abdomen, while he pushed his own within the tight embrace of those strong thighs. A guttural moan escaped Iūrius’ throat when the firm heat of Victorius’ cock finally pushed between his cheeks as he lowered into a straddle. Flickering lamplight caught on glass and Iūrius retrieved their vial of olive oil from beneath the pillows.

“Your call could rival a siren’s the way you almost submerged me in lustful delirium today,” Iūrius said in a gravelly voice, punctuated by the _pop _of the vial cork. “Now it’s time for you to drown.”

A luxurious smile lit Victorius’ features, his eyes sparking in unrestrained excitement. “_Please_.”

Oil thickly poured from the spout onto Victorius’ skin, pooling along his pectorals and the cut of his clavicle. Casting the vial aside, Iūrius plunged his hands through the liquid, sleekly spreading it over the pale plains of Victorius’ beautiful torso until every inch glistened with a dancing glow.

But before Iūrius could caress those delectable nipples, Victorius wrapped a delicate grip around his right wrist. He brought it to his lips to brush a soft kiss across the double ‘CC’ _stigma _that marred the skin there. Iūrius let out an adoring sigh at the habit his beloved had adopted upon their first joining, enacted as if to soothe the age-old pricks of the needle from Iūrius’ long deceased master. It had only bore him shame before Victorius lovingly taught him its representation of strength, endurance, and, above all, his _freedom_.

Iūrius gave a firm grind on Victorius’ arousal, unwilling to dwell on times past and unable to stay still any longer. He desperately _needed _to show his Emperor how much he was adored. Withdrawing his arm from its hold, Iūrius firmly pushed the heels of his palms into Victorius’ pectorals, massaging and squeezing them together with the slickened heat of the oil.

Sweet whimpers rung within his ears with the flickers of Victorius’ pert nipples until a lubricated finger circled around Iūrius’ rim. Azure eyes bore into his, asking in silent permission, and Iūrius vigorously nodded. After a few teasing strokes, Victorius breached the opening and Iūrius gasped in sheer bliss from being intimately touched after a day of dangling on the edge.

“_More_, I can take it,” he wantonly urged, rocking his hips to push the finger deeper, willing to do anything to fall over that precipice.

Victorius ardently obliged with a satisfied smirk. A second finger, soon followed by a third, came to scissor and stretch, their laboured breaths and slap of oiled skin echoing around the frescoed walls with the symphony of their love making.

Deeming himself ready and using Victorius’ chest as leverage, Iūrius leaned forward to align himself with Victorius and slowly sunk down. They both released low, drawn out moans as Iūrius was filled with the pleasurable pulsing of Victorius’ cock.

“_Yes_,” he hissed.

Firm hands gripped Iūrius’ thighs. “That’s it, Iūrī. Let me feel your desire.”

Iūrius only growled in response, lifting himself until the tip caught on his rim and rammed back down. Praise and endearments littered from Victorius’ lips as Iūrius set an unrelenting pace. He was drunk on the feeling of dominance, of holding the command over the very man who commanded a whole empire. Not even Bacchus could serve a headier wine than the utter devotion that filled each thrust and heartfelt kiss in their intoxicating symposium.

Yet Iūrius wanted more. He wanted to bring forth the fire that still laid dormant within Victorius’ heated gaze.

“If I’m to be your greatest victory, dear Emperor,” Iūrius started, their eyes locking, “then _conquer me_.”

And Victorius _blazed_.

Iūrius tilted and was thrown onto his back with a force that knocked the breath out his lungs. Momentarily unseated, Victorius bent Iūrius’ legs to rest on his chest and rammed straight into the spot that made him see stars. Iūrius cried out in galvanising ecstasy from the punishing pace, Victorius grunting above him with every rock.

That was _exactly _what those smouldering looks throughout the day had promised him: to be taken in devout supplication and _claimed_. Iūrius found himself quickly ascending, coiling tighter with every impaling thrust that scaled his body further up the piled pelts.

“I-I’m close,” Iūrius gasped, barely coherent.

“Me too.” Victorius’ voice cracked, completely wrecked. “Come for me, Iūrī.”

It took a couple more of those perfectly aimed thrusts before Iūrius burst with a yell of Victorius’ pet name. Ropes of white shot between the slide of their bodies as he felt Victorius stutter and pulse within him.

Shaking arms giving out, Victorius collapsed onto Iūrius, and they laid together until they caught their breaths. Before long, mouths kissed and nipped to taste salted skin and hands wandered to rekindle the embers of their ardour. They continued to worship each other far into the night, until the moon was flown from the sky and the sun dawned to conquer another day.

**Author's Note:**

> Throughout writing this piece, I challenged myself to how disgustingly in love I could make Viktor and Yuuri while cheekily fitting in as many Classical references as possible :P
> 
> I'm still utterly in love with izzy's AU, and her fantastic artwork, and would absolutely write more! Even months later, I'm ridiculously proud of this piece :3
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed!


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